


Trace Amounts

by glanmire



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Mansion!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:36:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1741625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glanmire/pseuds/glanmire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Class fic. After an explosion in Hank's lab - Sean's fault, of course - Charles and Erik gain new aspects to their powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trace Amounts

It happens in the immediate seconds after Erik threw Sean off the roof. Charles was never going to be able to do that; endangering students is not his forte- and yet he's glad that Erik could. Someone did need to. Charles isn't so morally-uptight that he can't see that much. 

Sean screams as he descends. That was all part of the plan, and yet it is still a touch alarming. Only a certain amount of that scream is exhilaration- there’s fear there too. Charles is reassured somewhat by the grip Erik has on Sean's belt- well, he presumes that his friend does have anyway.He knows that if he himself could control metal he would be constantly guiding people around by their buckles, steering them gently out of harm's way, but it would be a mistake to think that Erik does the same. 

 "Isn't it wonderful?" he says to no one in particular, shouting above the cacophony of noise; the students’ cheering, Sean's screams, even the wind at this height is frankly louder than seems necessary. Erik turns fractionally, to hear him better most likely, even though it's not like Charles had said anything earth-shattering - and then several things happen at once. 

Charles' belt-buckle theory is proven correct, because when Erik turns towards him, his hands shifting slightly, so does Sean, far below. Sean screams louder than before - probably out of real fear this time - as he is steered back towards the house; Erik yanks his hand up and Sean rises again sharply. Charles has time to think that the makeshift wings may have been a touch frivolous, considering that Erik can now seemingly throw and guide students by the mere metal in their outfits- and then the downstairs windows shatter, a delayed reaction to one of Sean's screams. 

"The students," Charles gasps, before hurdling himself back inside and downstairs. Only later does he realise that there was no need to take the stairs- he probably could have thrown himself off the roof, and Erik would have guided him down to the ground by his belt. Probably. 

 

-

"My work..." Hank trails off miserably. There has been no major damage done to downstairs, except the broken glass. Unfortunately no one has the ability to clean that up with their minds, so Charles has set them all with the invigorating task of sweeping it all up while he, Erik and Hank examine the damage done to Hank's makeshift lab.   
"There's probably nothing to be done for anything glass in there Hank," Charles admits. He's just about to open the door into the laboratory when a stray thought pecks at him.  "Say Hank, you weren't perhaps experimenting with anything dangerous in there, were you? Just before we go in, that is." 

Hank looks down a touch too quickly, and Charles Xavier wouldn't want to have to be a telepath to see the guilt scribbled all over his features. Erik steps forward, and Charles doesn't protest. They seem to have been projecting a good-cop bad-cop vibe recently with the students, and although Charles does not mind the label 'good', he thinks it would be a mistake to label Erik as simply 'bad'. The man is not an apple, for God-sakes.

 "Hank. What were you doing in there?" Erik asks, jerking a thumb in the direction of the lab. Charles does not appreciate the tone, but it is imperative that they don't walk into a room full of freshly exploded harmful substances, so he ignores it for now.   
"I was creating an agent that would - it would - lessen the more- more visual effects of the mutation-"   
"Spit it out," Erik growls.   
"An injection to make me and Raven look normal-" Hank manages.   
Erik's hands slide around Hank's throat.  
“Erik, stop it!” Charles shouts.   
(He could forcibly stop Erik but he doesn’t want to and it’s that damned question - is stripping Erik of his free will worse than letting him strangle poor Hank?)

"There's nothing wrong with you or Raven!" Erik is shouting at Hank, who doesn't seem to be listening to his advice, but is instead clawing at the iron hands that grip his throat.   
"Erik!" Charles shouts again, and Erik steps back in one fluid motion, composed again.   
"I'm sorry I got angry Hank," he says, "I just find it disgusting," and his face crinkles like waste-paper at the word, "that you feel that you have to hide. There is  _nothing_ wrong with you."   
Hank nods, though Charles gets the feeling that he's simply too terrified to do anything else. Charles is not totally unperturbed either - he briefly fears that one day Erik will not step back just because he asks him too. Charles does not want to think what will happen that day, and so he does not. There are more pressing things at hand. Probably. 

 "Do you think it will be safe to go in Hank?" he asks, and the boy nods again. "Righteo. Nothing for it then," he mutters, half to himself, trying to fill the silence that has grown between the panting Hank and the still-glowering Erik. He steps forward, but the doorknob twists and the door swings open before he can reach it, Erik’s silent apology. They stride inside together. 

 

-

It's not until much later that evening before Charles ascertains that there may be something amiss.   
Erik is cooking for all of them again, as usual. Charles likes to sit in the kitchen and watch him at it. It's something magical, watching knives weave around in a dance that only Erik understands; cutting peppers so that their bright red circles look like lipstick-kisses on the chopping board, to watch pots sliding off the heat before they over-boil.   
There's beauty in it, and Charles falls silent as Erik does his magic. A silver spoon glides over to him almost of its own accord, and he tastes the sauce. It is hot, like all of Erik's food- it burns the lips and yet soothes. "Magnificent," he says. "Well, and not any fault to the sauce, but it could do with little more salt."   
He reaches for the shaker. As his hand closes around its little form his arm goes curiously numb, and it stretches out to Erik of its own accord, the little white shaker still clutched tight in his fingers.

"Erik?" Charles asks. "What just happened?"   
Erik's face is different than usual. Doubt crosses over his usually sure features, and he looks at Charles with an expression of fear and horror.   
"I think," he says, "that I may have just controlled your arm."   
Charles has to laugh, and he does. Erik does not, but that's to be expected.   
"My friend, I am sorry, but that's surely impossible. I have a normal human hand, not a metal one-"   
"Trace amounts of copper, iron and magnesium in the blood," Erik whispers.   
"Pardon?" 

Erik steps forward angrily, which the situation does not merit. "You heard me."   
Charles still feels confused, dazed. "Trace amounts? Surely not Erik. You've never been close to that powerful-” 

"What's for dinner?" Sean asks happily, walking into the kitchen. The spell is broken and Erik turns back to the food.   
No one replies, and Sean's brow furrows. "Look, I'm so sorry about today Professor, it was an accident. I have enough saving to cover the windows- probably- and-"   
"It's quite alright Sean," Charles says, still staring at Erik's turned back. "It seems we all still have to get used to our powers."  

-

 

Charles approaches Hank after dinner, quietly. "Look Hank, my sincerest apologies about today."   
“ _You_ don't need to apologise, Professor.” Neither of them acknowledge the second, unsaid part of the sentence.   


Charles sighs. “Hank, I will not force you to do anything. You are old enough and wise enough to make your own decisions. I only ask that you would talk to me before you would take such drastic measures such as injecting yourself."   
"Yes, of course," Hank says, talking to the floor again. Charles is forced to wonder how many of the boy's self-esteem issues rise from his mutation. Mutant and proud, he thinks bitterly.   
"Hank? One last question for you. There was nothing in the lab today, airborne let's say, that would hypothetically strength the inherent abilities of a mutation?"   
"I can do some tests," Hank says, indecision on his kind features. "Perhaps when the test tubes exploded, whatever was in them- Professor, is everything okay?"   
"Yes of course Hank, nothing to worry about, just curiosity.”  
Hank looks at him, and sometimes Charles wonders if there isn’t a touch of telepathy in Hank too; he sees more than most, but does not comment.  

-

 

It has been a long day, and when Erik asks him to play chess Charles almost refuses him. For once it would be nice just to talk, to play cards, whatever. Chess is highly competitive - but then, so is Erik.   
Charles doesn’t refuse him though. He has a faint idea that Erik’s connection here is only tenuous; the slightest change and he would drift away like a summer ballon on the passing breeze. Charles wants Erik to stay, and he tries to integrate his friend into this life, to teach him that it is okay to put down roots, but it’s not in Erik’s nature to be like that.  
Charles sometimes wonders if Erik has more than a passing interest in any of them. He’d like to think that they were friends, and that Erik and Raven were reasonably amicable, but the rest- well he feared Erik did not feel too strongly one way or the other about the rest. So no, Charles was not going to decline a chess game, not when there was probably a limited number of them left. 

“Your move Erik,” he prompts half-way into the match. They are seated into high armchairs, and the table between them holds the chessboard and two nearly-finished glasses of scotch. Their legs brush under the table and Charles reminds himself to find a more suitable spot. It is a big enough house- surely a man could get some more leg room somewhere.   
“Are you messing with my mind Charles?” Erik asks roughly, out of the blue.    
Charles blinks rapidly. “You know that I wouldn’t-”  
“Because I don’t _want_ to move my Queen here,” and Erik gestures, keeping his eyes on Charles, “but it’s like every time I think of a different move, someone keeps guiding me back to that one.”   
“But that’s a terrible move, my knight could take your Queen-”  
Erik looks at him with gritted teeth. “I know.” 

Charles leans back, considering. Erik watches him with what looks like suspicion, which is unwarranted, but that’s Erik.   
“Make me want something Erik,” he says finally, on a hunch.   
Erik’s eyes flash, and his mouth makes that line it makes sometimes. It’s an unreadable expression. “Sorry?” he asks.    
Charles sighs and decides he ought to elaborate. “You see, I’d quite like to win this match, and making you make that move would be a solid way to go about it, and maybe I’m subconsciously projecting my desires onto you-” He pauses. Perhaps ‘desires’ was a tad strong of a word.    
“So you’re taking my free will?” Erik asks.   
“No no no Erik, my subconscious may be guiding you. Huge difference. So look, I don’t know, sell me something in this room, make me want it.”  
“You own everything in this room Charles.” 

Sometimes Erik will not go along with things. He can be stubborn like that. Charles fears that it is one of those times, but he is proven wrong when Erik leans back, crossing one leg over the other. “You own everything, that is, except me.”   
“Don’t be ridiculous Erik-” Charles protests, but Erik has that dangerous look in his eye again.   
“Let’s see,” Erik says slowly, and a thought wafts over to Charles saying _you want me._ It is suddenly too hot in this room and too late at night to be playing such games, and yet Charles stays where his is. Science is science after all.   
“I speak many languages,” Erik says and Charles hears _I'm good with my tongue_ , and it’s not bloody subtext, Erik is literally loudly thinking that, and goddamn it he knows Charles can hear it.  “I’m an outstanding in the kitchen,” Erik continues, his blue eyes fixated on Charles _and in the bedroom,_ “and I’m reasonably attractive,” _even more so without the turtleneck_ “and of course, I have an incredible gift” _and I'm not talking about the metal._

Erik frowns then, and the pounding in Charles’ ears stops. “Doesn’t seem to be working.”   
“No,” Charles says. He reminds himself that it was an exercise, nothing more.   
“Goodnight then,” Erik says, and stands to go. He isn’t gone two feet before he jerks back around and sits again. He shoots an accusing look at Charles, who grimaces. “I guess that means I didn’t want you to go,” he says, apologetic.   
“Magnificent,” Erik says, but it’s an insult the way he says it. “So everyone has to do whatever you want them to now, huh? And you can’t control it?”

Charles looks down. For reasons he’s not quite sure of he feels ashamed. “No, I can’t control it. Side-effect of Hank’s work, it ought to wear off-”  
Erik cuts him off. “It’s strange, because I can control mine,” and Charles feels his own fist tighten involuntarily and knows Erik is using his new power. 

This must be what it feels like when he forces himself into other people’s minds- except Charles controls the mental aspect, and so the entire body. Erik is only manipulating the metal in his blood, not his thought process, not his brain. Charles reckons he could resist if he truly tried, though he does not test the theory. There are pink little indents in his palm when he is able to open it from where his nails dug in, like kisses marking the skin.  

_

 

As Charles walks into the kitchen the next morning, he hears Alex screaming at Sean. The anger issues have been happening regularly since Darwin, but shouting at Sean or anyone isn’t going to make them better. From what he can make out as he approaches, Charles gathers that poor Sean only used up the last of the milk - not a terrible crime.   
He enters the room and the shouting is immediately cut off. Alex glares around at them. “What’s going on?” he says in the angriest whisper Charles has ever heard.   
“What do you mean what’s going on?” Raven shoots back.   
“I can’t shout- eiiiihhhhhhhh,” Alex attempts, making a sound like an old man being forced out of his favourite chair.   
“If everyone would just hold on a moment-” Charles starts, but now all the kids are doing it, and of course none of them can shout or raise their voices because _clearly_ Charles’ subconscious doesn’t want to deal with loud children at 8am.   
He sneaks a glance at Erik, who has the audacity to smirk back at him. That’s not entirely helpful. 

“Everybody, please-” he begins, and magically the strangled hissing noises stop. He guesses that the subconscious thing is actually helpful in times like this.   
“Look, I’m afraid to say that there was an incident yesterday.. Myself and Erik went to clean Hank’s lab, and we may have inadvertently exposed ourselves to a chemical agent that seems to be, emm, magnifying our latent abilities.” 

Erik smiles at the curious faces that turn to him in unison. “Yes, I’m able to control you all now, by the trace amounts of metal in your blood.”  
Sometimes when Erik smiles he looks like a great beast just about to attack his prey. Now was one of those times. Hank looked enthralled at this development, but that was Hank. The others looked downright horrified.  
“Yes, and quite unfortunately, I seem to be projecting my unconscious desires onto all of you,” - he really needed to stop saying _desires_ sometime soon, “so err, sorry about that.”  
“You might let the children speak now, Charles?” Erik asks, maybe a touch sarcastically. “I’m sure they have questions about all of this.”   
“I’m trying Erik,” he said, and he was, but controlling his subconscious was extraordinarily difficult. 

Hank looks up timidly. “I’m getting a strange compulsion now to go to the lab and try figure out when all of this will wear off.”   
“Yes, very well Hank, that does seem best.”   
“I wasn’t finished breakfast,” Hank mutters, but he stands anyway and walks mechanically to the door. Raven gets up and silently follows him.   
“Thank you Hank,” Charles calls after them.  
Erik looks at him. “I don’t believe the boy had a choice in the matter.”  
“Yes, well how much control do any of us really have over our lives?” Charles says in what he hoped sounded like a voice of wisdom. “I must be going. Things to organise, books to read.”   
He leaves in a hurry, and he is barely out in the hallway before the children get their voices back.   
“Weird,” Sean says, and he has to agree with him, just this once.  

-

 

“Can we get back to matter at hand?” Charles implores the group. A hush falls over them, though whether he has inflicted it or not he isn’t sure. Best not to ask.   
“I don’t want to,” Raven says resolutely. She is wearing her training gear and her blonde body, and has a hard line set in her jaw.   
“Look Raven, wouldn’t it be helpful to know whether you are stronger when you are your blue self?”   
“No.”   
“It would be wise to find out-” Charles starts, but Raven sends him a look that shut him up. 

Erik, on the other hand, does not have the patience to gently encourage students.He glares right back at the girl in the grey tracksuit. “Raven, you’re being foolish. One day this information could save your life, and you’re not finding out because what, you’re afraid to be blue around us? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard in a long time. I thought you were meant to be brave.”  Charles wonders sometimes if Erik liked the bad-cop role too much when he says things like that.  

Raven glares at the group at large, and then drops her disguise but keeps on glaring. It is much more frightening coming from yellow eyes.   
“Now run,” Erik prompts, and she does. Charles presses the stop watch and watches her go around the track.   
“Good job Erik,” he finds himself saying conversationally.   
“I may have given her a push,” Erik says, a hint of a smile at his lips.   
“Pardon me?”  
“Upped the pulse, invoked adrenaline. She couldn’t have backed down if she’d wanted to.”   
“That’s -” Charles begins. _Unethical_ , he thinks but did not say.   
“It was necessary,” Erik replies, and that it seems is that.  

-

 

“So I did some tests,” Hank tells them later.   
“Yes yes, go on,” Charles prompts. Hank is being oddly quiet today, as if he is afraid the slightest word will cause Charles to unwillingly silence him. This may be true, but it would be more polite to pretend, surely?   
“From what I can tell, it’ll wear off by tomorrow. I’m sorry about this, Professor,” he says. People keep apologising to him lately. Charles wonders will it always be like this.   
Not Erik though. Erik does not apologise, but then Erik is always sure of his decisions. Erik could shoot you in the spine and walk away without a word, and you still wouldn’t wrangle an apology out of him.  That was an awful image, and Charles forces himself to forget it. He doesn’t know what’s got into him lately.   
“It’s quite alright Hank. No lasting damage done.”   
Hank smiles weakly. “I’ll leave you two to it then,” and he leaves as quick as he came. 

 “Would you like to have it all the time?” Charles asks abruptly, a while later.   
Erik turns, a spatula in his hand. “Have what?”  
“These new-found abilities of ours. Surely it would be convenient for you to be able to control people?”  
There’s a pause. Erik doesn’t look away, and Charles wishes he hadn’t asked.   
“No. I don’t need anymore help with being able to kill people than I already have.”   
“Ability with metal isn’t an aggressive power Erik. You mustn’t think of yourself in those terms.”  
“Everything in this room is a weapon Charles! I could push a coin through your skull, send a knife through your back, I don’t need to be able to control people like puppets too!”   
“Erik, I can do that too. Well, not the throwing metal bit, but I can control people all the time if I want. I just choose not too. All our mutations are weapons if you choose to see them that way.” 

Erik closes his eyes, probably out of frustration. He then snaps them open again as an eerie, false smile stretches across his face.   
“Charles. Stop that,” he says through gritted teeth.   
“What? Am I making you smile? Oh dear. Well look, clearly I just want my friend to be happy.”   
It’s oddly scary, seeing a grown man smile against his will, but also highly amusing, he must admits.   
“I’ll be glad when this wears off,” Erik says, the grimace still on his face.   
“I don’t know if I fully agree. Come, let’s play Monopoly or something. You can be the iron and I’ll be the race-car.” There will be no chess tonight.   
“I don’t have a say in this, do I?” Erik asks, but it seems to Charles there may be a real smile under the false one now.   
“No choice whatsoever my friend,” Charles says, clapping Erik on the back. “Not tonight at least.” 

 

 

 


End file.
